


Steal a line

by Tori_cat13



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Marriage Proposal, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tori_cat13/pseuds/Tori_cat13
Summary: Spencer meets Will in a bar.
Relationships: Will Graham/Spencer Reid
Kudos: 14





	Steal a line

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little ficlet based around a scene from Fraiser where Daphne asks Niles how he thinks their conversation would have gone if they'd both been at a different place in their lives and met in a bar. His response felt like a punch to the gut and is honestly one of the most romantic things I'd ever heard. I have not done it justice but tried nonetheless.  
> Here's the scene I'm talking about: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rt-9C_LREWE

Spencer stopped in the doorway of the bar he had just entered and took a quick step to the right in order to be out of the way. He wasn’t quite sure why he was there other than perhaps getting to him as it did to anyone who regularly stood outside of societal expectation and _normality._

He scanned the room, but his eyes were caught and held halfway through by the figure sitting alone at the very middle of the bar. Male, curly unkempt hair, slumped posture, flannel shirt worn but well cared for, no one sitting on either side for several seats face tilted down he isn’t looking for company but he’s here in public not in his own home so he feels the need for _some_ companionship even if it is only vicariously or with the bartender so anti-social but lonely, hunched shoulders and drawn in elbows he feels defensive quite often. He doesn’t want company and yet he’s here. It comes back to the same point again and again: he’s lonely.

So is Spencer.

It didn’t really matter how much Gideon appreciated his intellect and introduced him as Doctor Spencer Reid at every opportunity. In fact, one could argue it was _because_ of those things that he was held separate from the team. Not that it was anything new; being a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school system and then years to decades younger than his peers didn’t really lend itself to close companionable bonds with others. Having three Ph.D.’s and two bachelor’s degrees so young was very intimidating to others; his habit of babbling was also very off-putting. Understanding that didn’t make him less alone. He trusted the team with his life, but they just didn’t understand him.

Acting on that loneliness, Spencer let his feet draw him to the man at the bar. “Is this seat taken?” he asked, gesturing even though the man didn’t look up.

Spencer watched the man’s jaw clench. It was a nice jaw, even hidden behind stubble as it was. This close, Spencer could make out hair from at least four different animals. Dog, judging by the placement and texture. He didn’t seem like the type to buy purebred dogs and something… gave Spencer the impression that the only dogs the man adopted were strays. The man saw an animal—a dog, animals known for their loyalty and unconditional love. The things we prize the most are typically things we hold closest to our hearts and the things closest to our hearts we want to share with our loved ones. He wants to show loyalty and unconditional love as much as he wants those things shown to him—in need, took the time, patience and care to lure them to him and then brought them home where they would undoubtedly be washed, fed, and well cared for. The amount of dogs made it clear he held onto what he took responsibility for; had trouble letting go. Childhood spent being made to let go of precious things all too often, now he hoards and guards the precious things like a dragon.

Spencer wouldn’t mind being hoarded by a man like that.

“No,” was finally ground out. Not in a way that spoke of reluctance—or rather rejection too polite to be spoken—but as if the words were pulled from him amidst an inner conflict. That dichotomy of a misanthrope who still needs human interaction.

Spencer ordered and sat, arranging his messenger bag about his feet so it couldn’t be stolen easily. Perhaps it was an unnecessary thing to do at the moment, but it was a hard-ingrained habit and just like all the things he’d learned about the man next to him, his own habits would tell his story for anyone who knew how to read them. And Spencer hoped this man could.

Spencer had made the first move; it was now the other man’s turn. He wouldn’t force an interaction like most others would. No, while he wanted the man’s attention, he would _not_ hound the man. Spencer’s company would be a take it or leave it option. No pressure. No expectation.

With that thought in mind, Spencer settled in for the long haul, body language subtly inviting but mind focused on enjoying the moment itself.

The bar was reasonably quiet, and his drink was perfect. He let the tension that came from trying to reign in his personality and conform—at least as much as he could—to polite society. He twisted his neck to pop it and sighed, stretching out, consciously untucking himself from his habitual slouch before relaxing over the countertop.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other subtly mirror him by sitting a bit more upright. Saw his shoulders unclench. Saw him take a deep breath in and let it out.

“My name is Will,” he told Spencer, turning his head, eyes alighting on Spencer’s cheekbone.

_His voice is nice,_ Spencer mused to himself. He turned just a bit more towards him. Their eyes met for a split second, but time seemed to almost stop for that moment. Blue-green eyes with a world of hurt and mistrust, empathy, light and darkness. In those eyes Spencer could read a childhood of too-adult worries—where’s the next meal coming from, will my parent be responsible today or will it be me, is today the day my mind betrays me—and too many well-meaning meddlers, too many people poking and prodding to see how he ticked. He saw courage and a dedication to leashing the darkness inside of himself. He saw the long nights with only his thoughts, dogs, and alcohol for company. He saw… a lot of himself, actually.

“My name is Spencer,” he returned, flitting his eyes away at the same time. Another thing they had in common, he thought ruefully. An avoidance of prolonged eye contact. He wondered about the man, about Will. He wondered how his story had led him here, he wondered if he’d be able to handle Spencer’s need to blurt out the most random of trivia, he wondered what his mouth tasted like, he wondered if the man’s dogs would like him, he wondered if he’d get the chance to know. He wondered if the darkness in Will’s eyes would complement the darkness in his own soul, whether they’d be good for each other or burn down the world. He wanted to find out. So he asked, in a moment of uncharacteristic eye contact, “What are you doing for the rest of your life?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a teaser more than anything else. I'll probably continue it and maybe make a small series but for now I wanted to get this out there. I honestly had no clue what to title this and there are other variations I'm going to experiment with for this.


End file.
